Blood Streaked Walls
by Rasiaa
Summary: We had seen it coming for weeks, everyone at the orphanage, but talking to him had done little. Still, a part of me discarded these facts and refused to believe that one of my two best friends was dead.


Then sun was setting, bathing the whole room in a dark pink glow, softened by the see-through white curtains that were pulled over the window. The lamp beside me shone a yellow artificial light on the papers on my large desk, each word and number printed seeming to almost swim before my eyes. I blinked and lifted my head; the clock flashed 7:36 pm when I looked at it, and I reluctantly set my pencil down. I looked once more at the geometry problems I had yet to solve, then looked away. I had only started on my homework an hour ago, and I normally would've finished by now, but…. Something seemed off. I had not idea what, but I had a feeling of dread wash over me as 7:38 blinked at me from the clock to my right. My mouth went dry, and I pushed away the cake that was on the desk, throwing it into the trash under the desk. I had no desire to eat, even though dinner was in just a few more minutes.

I stood, pushing my chair back, and stuffed my hands into the pockets of my jeans. The cloth on my arms brushed uncomfortably over the bandages around my skin, but I ignored it, as I always did. I got hurt like this far too often, with my friends being the way they were. My shoulders fell forward and I bent my head as I left my room, trying in vain not to be seen. As number one in the orphanage, I was given a lot of unwanted attention. My bare feet brushed over the soft white carpet, silent in the empty hall. I still stuck close to the cream colored wall, just in case. I passed several other rooms on the way to my destination, but ignored them. My heart rate picked up and the hairs on the back of my neck stood up when I reached A's room.

Hesitantly, I lifted one hand to the door and placed my palm just under the gold plated numbers in the center of the door- 17. I was in room 5, while the third member of our trio, B, was in room 13, to his great delight. I made my hand into a fist and knocked lightly on the wood, calling, "A? It's time for dinner." There was no answer, but I was no discouraged. "A, com'on, you know you have to go this time, otherwise Roger will have your head!" It was true. Roger had threatened punishment if A didn't start to put on some weight and stop his terrible self-destructive tendencies. "A?" I called again, knocking harder. Panic began to set in, though not enough to send me running. "Alternate?" I said, using his codename, which he almost always responded to. He didn't respond that time.

"Alternate! Come on, now, you can't stay in there forever!" I punched the door, yet there still was no answer. I tested the doorknob, and when the knob turned without trouble, I pushed the door open. It was dark inside the room, all the lights off and the heavier curtains drawn against the sunset. As I stepped inside, the smell of blood got stronger, and I really began to panic then. My eyes searched the darkness quickly, falling on a slip of light under the door to the bathroom. I pulled on the doorknob, but it was locked. In desperation, I cried out A's real name, something only Roger, Watari, B, and I knew aside from A himself, "Avery! Open this door!"

A hand landed on my shoulder, pressing hard. "It's too late, L," B said, emotionless. "He's already dead."

I froze, my body shutting down. I knew it was true, because A always answered when called, and would never keep me out. That, and the smell of blood was too strong to ignore. We had seen it coming for weeks, everyone at the orphanage, but talking to him had done little. Still, a part of me discarded these facts and refused to believe that one of my two best friends was dead. "No," I snarled at B, who looked surprised. "He can't be."

His face softened, understanding my turmoil. "But he is," he insisted. Don't know how he was so certain, or how he was so unaffected by the whole thing. A had been B's boyfriend for a short time, after all, and who wouldn't mourn the loss of a loved one? B, apparently. "L, A is dead. You know that as much I as do. Come, we have to get Roger to collect the body and arrange a funeral."

I ripped my shoulder from B's grip and slammed my elbow into his gut. He doubled over, shocked and winded, and I pushed on the door instead of pulling, and the doorknob gave way under my weight. Weak door, I thought briefly, before I caught sight of the mess in the bathtub.

A's blonde hair was stained red, darkened further by the water, which was up to his chin. He was naked in the red water, and glass shards, razors, and knives were scattered all around the floor. One knife was still clutched in A's hand, also leaning on the tiled wall. The tiles were coated in a slippery red- A's blood. It dripped slowly over the ceramic and quickly between the tiles, almost like a maze. On the side of the bathtub, in bright red paint, were the words 'I'm sorry'. I felt sick, and was suddenly very glad I hadn't eaten the cake. I would've thrown it up.

"Whoa, he made a mess," B commented slowly from behind me, I ignored him. B swept passed me and knelt by the tub, taking A's limp hand between both of his and bringing it to his lips and he closed his eyes. My heart was racing, and my eyes burned, and some part of me wondered where B's jumpy and excited nature went, and then countered with the thought of how B's best friend had just died and it probably was a tad shocking.

Unable to stand it, I left them alone, and made my way down the hall to Roger's room. I didn't knock, and instead just opened the door. Roger was on his feet behind the desk, ready to scold the intruder, but he stopped when he saw the look on my face. "A committed suicide," I told him in a monotone, and I saw him close his eyes and age about five years in a few seconds. "B and I found him in his bathtub. You'll need the janitor, A made a big mess," I went on, uncaring of how the caretaker was taking the news.

He nodded and guided me out of his room, my hands hanging limply by my sides as I allowed him to push me along. He went to B's room first, and opened the door to find an open window and blood streaks on every piece of furniture. Broken jars of jam littered the floor, and they ripped the bottom of the curtains where they blew with the wind. The sun was lower in the sky, and I could almost see B's figure on the lawn outside. He was long gone.

On the bed, a note said simply, "This is not the last you'll see of me, L. This I can swear to you, World's Greatest Detective."


End file.
